Ncesh Nonxishi – A Voice for the Ages
‘Mfinxi mfinxi mfinxi‘ is the familiar sound of dirt lifting from fabric under the rigid grip of dutiful hands and a soapy concoction. Not many of us, if any, associate that sound with anything other than the chore of laundry. Except for one five-, maybe six-year-old, who listened to this sound and heard the temperament of survival and the rhythm of everyday life. Unbeknown to her, or anyone else at the time, that simple moment was a revelation of who she would later become; a voice of deep reflection and contemplation.
Apho Kungenje—a Xhosa expression often used to dismiss busy-bodies who have a vested interest in everyone’s whereabouts and dealings except their own. The scenario usually plays out as follows: a lady dressed to the nines on an uneventful Saturday would emerge from her 4-room township home, elegantly close the gate and proceed to saunter down the road to the bus stop. Along the way she will be approached by busy-bodies asking about her destination and she would respond apho kungenje. Loosely translated, it means “where it’s not like this,” alluding to a journey toward greener pastures. It can also be understood to be a haven – a place where everything is in synergy. This expression has found new meaning as it adorns Ncesh Nonxishi’s debut album, setting the scene for what this collection of music entails.
We are told that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, but no one tells us how to navigate the gaping holes in this very history we are meant to learn from. No one teaches us how to exhume the buried chapters, so we wait on time and chance to tear through the spine of history, separating truth from propaganda. In protest against distorted narratives and forgotten heroes, Ncesh inscribes into semantic memory the legacy of the Zhizo people and the genius of her grandmother, Nonxishi, whose name she carries with pride and adoration.
As a voice of deep reflection, Ncesh does not shy away from confronting uncomfortable truths. In Lodo Mhlada Bada, she speaks on the land issue that continues to haunt South Africa, while also addressing the short legs that music has as a coping mechanism in the face of grave injustice – though necessary for endurance. The problems are clear and we can agree on them, the challenge comes when the rubber has to hit the tar, then things all of a sudden right in lost in translation of convenience which Ncesh echoes so well in the switch to isidubada in the chorus of the song. When I first listened to the album, what stood out to me was the ending lyric “sizinkedama” (we are orphans), which goes straight into Ndinethemba Uzobuya. The transition chilled me because it contrasts two types of displacement: one by force of policy, and the other by force of substance. And if you let your imagination stretch, as mine often does, you may even begin to wonder where home is in the absence of land.
That aside, Ncesh also addresses something that most, if not all, of us struggle with – grieving for a living person. We are familiar with the concept of death as it pertains to the physical body; to some extent, mourning in that context is well ventilated. But there are many deaths that we experience with the living, and for those, we are ill-equipped. How do you grieve for someone you never buried? How do you mourn someone who still walks the earth? How do you hold space for their memory while clinging to the hope of their return? There is no dignified ceremony to bid farewell to absconders. No grave to visit. No answers to find. Just lonely memories strolling through your mind and fuzzy wonderings of a future that may never be. In essence, I’m asking; how do you live with a hole in your heart? I don’t have a definitive answer. Ncesh does not offer one either. But she does open the door to the conversation. A path into that dark room of hurt and uncertainty, where you can sit with others and unpack the traumas you thought were uniquely yours. Therein you will realise that even under the heaviest of griefs, there will be pockets of joy and ecstasy, nono. You will find your people – the ones who stand by you for no other reason than simply being there for you. You will know joy and laughter again. You will learn to live, even with a limp, and make your life count. You will learn that love is yours to have as much as it is yours to give. You will cry tears of joy and sadness in equal measure. And when you finally make it back to the surface of life, purpose intact, you will walk back into that dark room of sadness to lift those you left behind.
Apho Kungenje is a yearning, a revelation, a movement.
It is a reminder to think about who you were, who you are, and who you want to be; while also thinking about how things are and how they can be. It is a call to fight for or yield to justice and a plea to honour life.
To be or not to be – that is the question.
Alas,
Kind regards.
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